Frost
by uglywugly
Summary: December 19, 1997Rodger receives a mysterious phone call from a friend, regarding an abandoned child. Hearing of the child's plight, Rodger agrees to let the boy stay at the orphanage for a while. This child, however, proves to be more than meets the eye
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Of course I do not own any of the Death Note series. This is all copyright of Tsugumi Ohba.

**Spoilers: **Yes. Possibly spanning to the end of the manga, depending on how far I intend to go with this. So, please, if you haven't finished it yet and decide to read this…don't gripe about the spoilers. oo I warned you.

**Critique is appreciated.**

* * *

**Frost**

**Prelude:** An Unexpected Call

December 19, 1997—Midnight

It was by the bay window on the East side of the room where Rodger stood. He was admiring winter's first snowfall, the white contrasted the pitch dark of night so that each flake seemed ethereal, almost glowed. It was his favorite time of the year, where everything was still and tranquil and the world was a little less unsightly. He stroked his finger idly against the stubble on his chin, a thumb stationed just beneath his jaw. Below him was the courtyard, a place he and his dearest friend had spent many days deciphering the mysteries of the world and plotting out the architectural design for the Wammy House. It now glistened beneath a blanket of white, sleeping soft and sound. He frowned, his gaze trailing to the wrought iron gate accenting the border of the property. It was at that same gate that he had met the most bizarre…and the most brilliant boy he would ever set his eyes upon.

Rodger jumped. A strident ring cleaved the silence without hesitation, the fragility of this serenity shattered. His thoughts were blown askew. Rodger's brow furrowed, and he wrung his hands thoughtfully as he proceeded toward his desk, eyes locked upon the phone. He stared at it with a nervous gaze for some time, as if scared of what might lie on the other line. Rodger finally picked it up, though, and placed the phone to his ear with caution.

The person on the other side was breathing heavily, as if distraught. "H-hello?" Rodger stammered, wondering who might be calling at such an unusual hour.

"It's me, Rodger," a gruff voice came out in a ragged huff, and paused for a brief moment as if to catch his breath, "Horace. W-We have a serious case here." Rodger clutched the telephone more tightly, his mouth altering into a cutting frown.

"Horace? What's going on?" Rodger could hear low murmuring beneath the crackling static coming from the other line. He thought he could hear the sound of a woman gasping. Horace hissed something, a swear of sorts. Rodger's brow knitted and he called, "Horace?"

The man let out a heavy sigh, "I'm sorry, this boy, Rodger you should see him… I haven't seen a case like this since… God, he's in horrible condition."

"What boy? Horace, what…?" Rodger inquired, baffled. It wasn't the first time that he'd gotten a call from Horace, he often called regarding abused children that seemed to exert unique qualities. But… he'd never seemed so distressed before—at least not since _that_ day. He was in the same state he had been on that lonesome night... "What is going _on_?"

"A woman called early this morning, regarding her neighbor's abandoned house. She'd heard strange noises all last night, things breaking and shattering… various loud noises. My God… we didn't realize we were going to find this," he gulped, spoke something to the others with him and continued, "we entered the place to find blood everywhere, peppering the cabinets and swiped across the walls. A particularly large stain was on the sofa in the living room. But…we found _him_ in the kitchen, huddled in a corner. All around him was silverware, tools… most were slathered in bloody marks. He's tiny, we haven't gotten a proper look at him, but there's no doubt he's malnourished. Hell, he _must _weigh less than forty pounds."

"Gracious name…" Rodger breathed. "Are you nearby any hospitals or any other medical facilities?" he inquired, trying to calmly talk Horace through all the options he had open.

"Rodger. The Wammy House is the closest thing around for…miles."

Rodger's frown was pawing at his face, making it look somewhat thoughtful while still maintaining that distress. He knew what his decision would be in the end, but the idea of the Wammy House accepting any sad story that passed Rodger by was, he knew, not a good idea. He groaned, "Bring him here. But we can't keep him long. Once we have him treated we'll have him moved to a better facility. And, Horace, hurry."

Horace grunted, and a click issued, followed by a solid, monotonous note. Rodger slowly set down the phone, glancing back at the window. The snow was falling thick and hard now. He gulped and rubbed his hands together nervously. Who knew what was in store for him with this new arrival?


	2. Chapter 1: Arrival

**Chapter One:** Arrival

The man in the red Chevelle was driving like a madman with little regard to his surroundings. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he rounded the bend a little too quickly, the wheels of the car raising a couple of inches off the crumbling street. It wasn't exactly clear why he was riding so hastily up the slope, at least until a cluster of cars zipped just behind said Chevelle. Still, that opened the door for yet another question: why on earth were the cars chasing after him in the first place?

The car spun quickly around yet another curve, its side grazing the metal railing lining the ridge of the mountain. The metallic creature cried in pain from the silvery wound etched upon its surface, but shrugged off the pain and continued up the slope at the firm press of a button.

"Don't you love how realistic this game is?" spoken word suddenly interrupted a trained thought and the car didn't quite make the final turn, instead crashing through the railing and plummeting over the edge. A certain finality graced the screen as a deep black rolled across it and 'GAME OVER' scrolled across in thick white lettering, accompanied by a rather depressing tune.

Another voice growled and a chunky gray controller clattered against the television screen upon its arrival, "Damn it, Matt! I was in the zone! What the fuck were you thinking?"

Matt gave a defiant glare as he crawled over the bed where his blonde friend sat indignantly at its end, "Look, you," he growled, tossing his legs over the side of the bed, "This is my game, this is my consol, and _that_ was my controller you just chunked at my, yes, _my_ TV." The boy hopped off the bed, landing on the plush beige carpeting with a gentle thud. As he bent over to gather his controller, a foot socked him in his rear, sending him sprawling into the television. In his awkward balled position, legs curled up in the air, Matt let out a grunt. This was always how he and Mello behaved toward one another.

There were many people who questioned their friendship and both Mello and Matt laughed at them for it. Though, it wasn't as if their pondering was unreasonable. After all the boys had done much worse to each other, once Matt had pushed Mello down the stairs after he'd sat on and broken Matt's cell phone. Both happenings—the breaking of the cell phone and the pushing down the stairs—had been an accident due to their own foolishness, but it didn't stop Mello from giving him a beat down when his injuries healed up. Still, they were untouchable by others. Everyone knew that if anyone attempted to harm a blonde hair on Mello's pretty little head, Matt would come at you with an unstoppable force, and if you messed with Matt, well... the consequences would be unimaginable.

"Damn, Mello," Matt barked as he scrambled to his feet. "You really oughtta watch what you're doing. I could'a cracked my skull or something." He rubbed his butt-bone, grimacing at the pain brought from where it had struck against the TV. Mello did nothing but flash a smirk over at the boy and crunch down on the half pound chocolate bar in his hand.

He'd known Matt somewhere around four years now. Mello had first thought Matt was strange, and they were something of rivals for about a year—well, as much of a rival as one can be at the age of five. Mello wasn't sure when it was that they became friends. It seemed to be a gradual thing, Matt entered his life slowly, eased himself into the untamed waters. Maybe that was why Matt seemed to be the only one able to get close to him. All the other children had tried to grab him by the horns, but their efforts were in vain as they were simply tossed away. Matt, however, approached him like one might a wild animal: sit around on the outskirts of its territory each day, move in a little closer a week later, continue this process until you stand right aside the creature. Yes, that was the kind of gentleness Mello needed to be befriended—lest he should gauge your eyes out.

Mello glanced up at the computer screen, from which had come a subtle binging noise as an instant messenger popped onto its surface. "You've got an IM," Mello muttered between a large bite of chocolate. He hopped off the edge of the bed and gazed at the computer. "It's Lee."

"Ok, so?" Matt questioned with a cocked brow while squatting by the game consol. A moment of silence hovered between the two boys, the humming of the computer was the only noise penetrating the room. Then, Mello let out a gasp.

"Matt, come here," Mello motioned the brown-haired boy to the computer. Matt ambled over, peering over his shoulder with curiosity. Lee was one of the more stuck up children in the Wammy House, he rarely talked to anyone outside of his small circle—let alone go out of his way to contact anyone else.

**Leeleepeeface****819****(12:25:39 AM)** matt, mello. normie heard rodger talking on the phone a couple of minutes ago, said that theres a new kid coming tonight. im supposed to pass it on.

Matt and Mello exchanged confused glances and Matt butted Mello out of his rolling chair, sending him sprawling on the floor with a resounding clatter. Mello groused as he shoved himself up.

**PhatMattAttack92 ****(12:25:41 AM)** new kid?

Matt might have been the quickest typist in the Wammy House, but that didn't mean he would be silent. He struck the keys like they were tiny little bugs he was trying to squish, the faster and harder he shoved them the more points he would get.

**PhatMattAttack92 (12:25:42 AM)**since when? why?

**PhatMattAttack92 (12:25:4****3**** AM)** I thought they always told us about new arrivals?

**Leeleepeeface819 (12:25:50 AM)** they found some abandoned kid. i don't know what's going on exactly—i just know he isnt like us.

**PhatMattAttack92 (12:25:51 AM)** he isn't like us?

**Leeleepeeface819 ****(12:25:57 AM)** yeah. hes not gifted.

It was Matt's turn to be dispelled from the rolling chair as Mello overtook the computer. _A child that wasn't gifted? Coming to the Wammy House?_ None of it added up. It was Wammy House rules not to take any child that didn't have some kind of talent. The blonde brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and proceeded on with the conversation.

**PhatMattAttack92 ****(12:26:31 AM)** Feh, I highly doubt that Rodger's really taking in some sob story. Normie has his facts wrong.

**Leeleepeeface819 ****(12:26:38 AM)** you can think what you want mello. we'll find out for sure tonight anyway. keep your eyes peeled you 2 are closest to the door so you have to tell everyone else when hes here.

**PhatMattAttack92 ****(12:26:42 AM)** Alright that's cool. But, Lee.

**Leeleepeeface819 ****(12:26:44 AM)** yes?

**PhatMattAttack92 ****(12:26:47 AM)** What the hell is up with your screen name?

**Leeleepeeface****819**** signed off at ****12:26:****51**** AM.**

"We're in charge of keeping a lookout for the new kid," Mello commented to the scrawny brown haired boy strewn in a jumbled mass across the carpet. Matt gazed at up at the golden haired boy with a frown, those seemingly endless black orbs glistening against the bluish glow of the computer screen. Matt wasn't sure what it was about Mello that was so frightening, so commanding. He was rather thin-almost to the point of looking frail, short, and for God's sake he had a _bob_ cut. But something about his face, perhaps it was those eyes, dark and possessive, narrow slits filled with a passionate flame. Yes, it was definitely the eyes.

Mello groaned, "Matt, what are you doing? Go check!" Matt heaved a heavy sigh himself as he got off the carpet and marched across the room. Even though a vast majority of the Wammy House despised one another, it was something of an unspoken law that they watch out for each other. The Wammy House was like a machine, and all the children and teachers within were the gears that made it function. When an upgrade was made to the machine, it was up to the ones closest to the entrance to inspect this new upgrade and pass the word on to the rest of the students so that they, too, could observe the newcomer.

Mello listened to the familiar sound of the bed scraping against the wall, the rustling of covers as they were tossed to the side. They'd repeated this process so many times, brush aside the bed and peek through the hidden cavity in the wall—the one that gave them a direct look into the corridor. Never before, though, had they had to spy so late into the night. Mello cupped his chin in his hand and idly clicked about on Matt's computer as the two awaited the arrival, finally spying Matt's more personal folders. A dirty smirk fixed on his lips, and he moved the mouse just above it. No telling what naughty things Matt had in his private folders. Just as he was about to double click the icon, Matt summoned him from the other side of the room.

"Come here!" his voice was excited. "They've just knocked on the door, and Rodger's o- holy _shit_." Matt's tone took a complete turnaround, almost sounded disgusted. Mello swiveled the chair in his direction, looking put out. "Hurry! Tell the others and come _here_!" Matt cried, "You should see this kid."

Mello rolled his eyes and rapped his knuckles quickly against the wall. He waited for a moment, poised still, hovering above the desk. It was then that a sort of echo came back, three thunks sounding against the wall. At that, Mello scrambled from his spot and to the door, cautiously twisting the doorknob and cracking the door just a bit. All around the Wammy House you could hear the hollow thuds of small fists knocking against the walls, but Rodger seemed not to notice as he spoke in a hushed voice to a strange-looking man.

He was of a stocky build, swathed in a black trench coat that appeared to be several sizes too big for him. He spoke with a thick Scottish accent as his fingers trailed across the tattered and frayed hat spilling into his bizarre milky gray eyes. Mello's eyes trailed to the man's other hand which was loosely held by the strangest, most grotesque thing Mello had ever seen…


End file.
